Of Sad, Rainy Rivers
by awesomosityrox
Summary: Someone comes to visit Alex, and is greeted with bad news.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey y'all, this is just going to be a one-shot. Maybe a two-shot, depending on the general reaction to it. Enjoy! :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Alex Rider.**

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He wasn't exactly looking forward to seeing the boy. In fact, he was dreading it. The idea of seeing Alex Rider again made his blood run cold with worry. The fears he had of seeing the young spy weren't rational- the reasons he fed himself that told him not to visit Alex were completely fabricated, lies he used to cover up his shame. What he was ashamed for, he didn't really know. He just knew that there was guilt doing the jitterbug in his nervous system. He knew regret when he felt it. He knew it's cold, suffocating drumbeat that grabbed your heart and squeezed until your heart was beating in time with a bee's wing, or someone's eyelashes when they try to blink back tears. He knew what it was to be afraid of yourself, because it used to be a common occurrence in his life.

He bit back his doubt as he trudged slowly down the road that lead to the Rider residence. He knew the place because he had been there once before- to see Ian Rider. Just to see, not to talk to and not to be seen. He only wanted evidence that the Riders still carried on, John and Helen alive, or not. Ice cold rain pattered softly on the wet sidewalk and slid in rivulets off the man's heavy trench coat, collar flipped up and buttoned to the throat.

He stopped and turned sharply. He walked briskly up the steps to the door of the Chelsea house, as if he were only going to a business meeting to clear up a business matter with a business associate. But this wasn't a business meeting, and he wasn't about to clear up a business matter, and the person who lived inside the house wasn't a business associate. The man's pale hand reached up to rap quickly on the door. The hand froze in midair. His eyes closed and he swallowed a large lump in his throat as he tried to battle down the nervousness that threatened to claw its way up and suffocate him.

The hand continued moving, and three knocks sounded into the cold, wet, empty night. The door opened immediately, and a puffy eyed young woman peered at the man from under swollen red eyelids.

"Yes? Can I help you?" she croaked quietly.

"American,_ then,"_ he thought to himself. _"This must be Jack."_

He cleared his throat softly. "I'm looking for Alex Rider," he forced out from in between clenched teeth. A breathy hiss escaped him, and his proud shoulders sagged in relief and resignation. "I need to speak with him. Could you tell me where he is?"

Jack blinked, genuine surprise flitting across her features. She wasn't given time to be sad, or mad. "He passed on, didn't you hear?"

The reality of what had just been said took a moment to sink in- to both of them. The woman's eyes widened and new tears threatened to spill over.

"I'm sorry. Sorry," she murmured wretchedly.

The door closed, and the man was left alone, standing in the rain, droplets of water mixing in with his salty tears until the sky's sadness ran with his, and his face was just one large river of misery.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi! I decided to make another chapter, but this is the last one.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Alex Rider.**

Chapter 2

The tears had stopped, but the rain hadn't. Cold sheets of water darkened the rough granite of Alex Rider's gravestone. The man stood silently in front of it, a statue: made of stone, just as the grave was. Freshly churned earth was filled over Alex's casket, and cold, empty eyes endlessly traced the chiseled words.

_Alex Rider; Beloved Friend; Heroic Patriot..._

The man's gaze drifted over to the grave adjacent to Alex's.

_Ian Rider_

He allowed himself time to think. To think about the short life of Alex Rider, and what incredible sacrifices he made. He was a true hero, though not a patriot. Never a patriot. Alex Rider was a tool used by MI6. MI6 was a band of vacant shells of people who, once patriotic, bled the British colors until they had no blood left but black. His sadness carried on until morning, when the sun popped over the horizon as if nothing extraordinarily dismal had happened through the night. The man's troubled thoughts were severed abruptly, and he heaved a great sigh as his sadness fled away from the day and into the shadows with the rest of the night. He knew that his despair would return with the moon. Sadness always did. He knew that the guilt in his chest had hardened into a ball and dropped into the bottom of his gut, and it would stay there. Day and night, the guilt would always be there. He tried to think of something happy. For the first time in years, he wished for some joyful thought to rush into his mind. A discarded memory, a distant laugh, the face of a long gone loved one. He was only successful in achieving the face of a loved one- Alex Rider. The man didn't know if Alex was exactly a loved one, but the poignant memory did nothing to help the heaving waves that rolled around in his heart. It only nursed the languishing emotions that sloshed inside his stomach.

The piercing sound of his phone cut into his dark thoughts. He flipped the phone open and grunted softly, signalling the person on the other end to begin speaking.

"Yassen? Where are you? I gave you the assignment two months ago, and you always get it done in one. What the hell is going on?"

Yassen sighed mentally. "I am no longer going to attempt to finish the job. Something has... come up. I don't think I will be accepting any more jobs for a while."

"What! What in God's name is wrong with you? What came up-"

Yassen shut his phone and cut off the string of expletives that erupted from the speaker. He let out a breathy laugh.

"Goodbye, little Alex."

Then, Yassen Gregorovich turned around and walked away from Alex Rider, without a backwards glance, as the last drop of rain fell on the gravestone, right over the word "Patriot."

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**Hello again. I've decided to make this into a bit of a series. No telling how long or where it will go, so we'll see as I go along. **

**It's been a while since I've written anything, I guess you could say I've been taking a break from fanfiction. Truth is, I just haven't really had any more good ideas. Thanks for reading, I look forward to writing the next chapter!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Alex Rider (unfortunately. Otherwise, I wouldn't have killed off Jack. Let Scorpia have Blunt rather than her, that's what I say).**

**Please read the notes (the 1 and 2) as you go through the story, otherwise you might be really confused by what I have to say. Not too confused, but confused enough that it would be a good idea to read them anyway. In case you were wondering, this is post- Scorpia Rising, Alex never went to America, instead he stayed on with MI6. Also, Kurst was replaced. You can read more at the bottom, which is where the notes (the 1 and 2) are.**

**It's been a while, Alex Rider Fandom. It's good to be home.**

Chapter 3

Yassen Gregorovich had spent two months alone, processing Alex Rider's death and trying to sort out his life. He hacked several MI6 'secure' files and found out that Alex had been assassinated three days before his trip to the Rider household. After leaving Alex's grave on that cold, damp morning, he had returned to his home in Russia. Yassen had thrown his phone on the couch and it had laid there for weeks, left unchecked by its owner as it filled with phone calls, messages, emails, and texts. He knew what they were about. Gregorovich never got any personal messages; such was the life of an assassin. He was only ever contacted to kill someone. Maybe a politician, maybe the head of a rival drug cartel, perhaps a military figure of some sort.

The personal life of an assassin, or lack thereof, was a very lonely one.

Very lonely indeed, Yassen thought as he sat in a chair across from his phone and stared fixedly at the wall. He had been in this position for several hours, attempting to suck up enough courage to call his handler, one of the few men, if not the only man, he trusted enough to talk to on a regular basis. Yassen took a deep breath and picked up his phone. He held it in his hands and stared at the dark screen

This was progress. He was touching it.

Five minutes later, his phone rang. The trained assassin jumped three feet in the air and threw the phone across the room like a possessed man, where it hit the wall and fell to the ground. After his nerves settled, he straightened his collar and retrieved the still-ringing and miraculously unbroken device. After seeing his handler's name as the caller ID, he took a deep breath and answered the cell phone.

"Hello, Mr. Thompson." Yassen spoke casually, trying his best not to sound like the total mess that he was.

"Yassen Gregorovich, would you look at that! I was beginning to think that you'd gotten yourself killed," Luke Thompson exclaimed jovially.

Yassen's lips twisted into a slight smile. "You know better than that Lucas."

"Damnit Yassen, how many times do I have to tell you: It's LUKE. No one's ever called me Lucas except my mother, who, unlike you, actually _is_ dead, may God have mercy on her soul, amen and all that. But yes, yes, I suppose you're right that I know better," Thompson laughed. "You always were slippery. Well it seems that you've dropped off the face of the planet. You haven't even called to turn down any hits that you've been requested to do. What far off land are you inhabiting now?"

"The Russian countryside."

"Well Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior, you might as well be on the moon!"

Yassen chuckled softly. "I needed to disappear for a while to get certain things in order. I'm back now."

When the handler spoke again, all traces of humor had left his voice. "You sure as hell better be. You have a meeting tomorrow morning in London."

Yassen winced. London? He was just starting to stem the flow of bitterness that followed Alex Rider's death, and now he was to go to the same city in which he was buried **(1)**? "Must I, Thompson? I'd really prefer not to."

"Sorry, it's non-negotiable. You're going."

The assassin sighed. "Who am I meeting?"

"Marcus Griffiths, new head of Scorpia."

Yassen froze. His mind sped back to the day he left Alex's grave.

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**(2)**

Yassen strode purpousfully up the narrow path to the front door, sending beer cans and broken glass skittering in his wake. He was reminded of his walk to the front door of the Rider household, except this time he actually _was _going to a business meeting to clear up a business matter with a business associate, though it didn't feel like it. It didn't feel like much of anything- Yassen Gregorovich only felt cold.

Scorpia was stationed in a nondescript warehouse in downtown Leeds, specially designed as not to draw attention- the large building matched the surrounding warehouses exactly. Cracked, dirty glass windows were put in and the sidewalk had been specially cracked and broken with sledgehammers to provide sufficient space in which to plant weeds. The bricks were crumbling off the sides of the building in certain places, and trash littered the street. The ambiance of the warehouse was rather sketchy, which caused anyone with potentially curious eyes to steer clear of the area.

This time, his hand didn't pause as he banged the rusty iron door with his fist.

An inconspicuous intercom to the side of the door buzzed to life. "Yes?" an emotionless voice asked.

He jammed his finger into the button. "Gregorovich to see Avery."

Silence, then: "Come in."

The heavy door swung open to reveal a glamorous, modern interior, in stark contrast with the dilapidated exterior of the building. Yassen's boot heels clicked sharplky on the dark, almost black, hardwood floors. Elegant white furniture was placed in the foyer and a pristine marble desk stood in the middle of the far wall between two hallways marked by large white columns. Yassen glanced expressionlessly to the receptionist at the desk who respectfully acknowledged him. Yes, she was familiar with this man, familiar with his skills, familiar with his hard face.

"You know where to go, Mr. Gregorovich," she said, her voice small in the large room.

Yassen nodded and turned his heels towards the right hallway, which he knew lead to the elevators.

A minute and thirty-eight seconds later (exactly, he had been counting), he stepped out of the elevator and walked along the corridor and stopped in front of the two armed guards who stood on either side of the black door labeled in silver lettering- "Private Office of Director Niamh Avery." He flashed his Scorpia issue client ID and entered the security code into the panel beside the door. It slid open and he strode in.

Niamh Avery had always had a thing for the assassin. Of course, she was by no means unattractive. In fact, Yassen would readily admit that she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever met. That is, if anyone knew him well enough to bother in asking. But today, rather than his usual small smile and pleasant greeting, he stood in front of her desk and studied her coldly. She stood and smiled disarmingly.

"Ah, Yassen. Our receptionist, Olivia, told me you were coming up. You know Olivia, yes? Of course you do, you come here often enough."

Yassen remained silent, and Miss Avery either didn't notice or ignored it. The latter, Yassen guessed. This woman hadn't become head of Scorpia based on looks alone, though Yassen suspected that her attractiveness hadn't exactly discouraged the board from putting her in charge.

"Won't you have a seat?" she asked politely, smiling prettily.

Yassen sat, but didn't return the smile that he normally found rather enchanting. Niamh Avery's long black hair shone and swayed as she turned her back to him to reach for a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses that sat on the shelf behind her. His eyes didn't stray, as they normally did, to her rather delightful rear end. Instead, he focused his eyes on the back of her head as if he could peer through and find the answer to the question he was dying to ask.

She turned back around, poured two glasses of wine, picked them up and sauntered to the front of her desk and leaned against it. She handed Yassen one glass and he took it, though his eyes never left her face. He scrutinized every feature for anything that could possibly tell him more about this woman.

She raised her glass. "You've served our organization well, Yassen. To Scorpia. To your career. To us. Cheers, darling."

Yassen stood, his nose inches away from hers. "Alex Rider," he said coldly.

She blinked, and her eyes narrowed. "Pardon?"

He pulled the glass from her hand and set it down heavily on the desk behind her so that the liquid sloshed around, spilling some onto the desk which dribbled onto the carpet.

"Alex. Rider." he said, his voice laced with poison.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, her voice becoming breathy and high pitched as if she had sensed the danger she was in.

He wanted to hear her say it. Admit that she put a hit on Alex Rider. Make her tell him who she hired.

Who killed John Rider's only son.

"Niamh. I need to know who you sent to kill him," he whispered, hoping to put her at ease enough so that she would tell him.

"Now Yassen, what good would that do? He is no longer of any consequence-"

Yassen's hand darted out to her waist and shoved her sideways so she smacked into the wall. Immediately, his gun was at her temple and his hand gripped both of her wrists tightly. He dug his forearm into her neck and she gasped for air.

"I said, I need to know who you sent to kill him. Now."

She thrashed around in Yassen's arms in vain. He flipped the safety on his gun and she stopped moving. "I don't know his name, he just went by Cain. He approached me and offered his services. I don't know anything else. Please..."

The assassin smiled humorlessly. "Thank you, Niamh. Working for you was lovely, but I quit, if what I'm about to do is any indicator."

Her eyes widened in terror and realization. "Yassen-"

One shot. He watched the life leave her eyes. He stepped back, let her body slide to the floor. He shot the two guards, took the elevator to the lobby. Olivia stood, bewildered.

"Mr. Gregorovich, I heard the gunshots. What happened?"

He looked at her. "You're too young for this. Like Alex. You're a nice young woman, get out while you can."

"But-"

He silenced her with a look.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," she mumbled gratefully, grabbing her purse and running down one of the side hallways, presumably to her car. Yassen nodded, glad that she had enough sense to listen to him. Maybe he would help her find a decent job, once all this was over. He walked out the iron doors, down the sidewalk, away from Scorpia headquarters. He didn't look back.

* * *

"Yassen? Yassen? You there." Luke's concerned voice cut through Yassen's thoughts.

"What does Scorpia want with me? Did my killing their director not clearly convey my feelings towards them?"

Thompson was silent for a moment. "Killing their director? That was you? They told me you had just quit and that Avery had been killed, but they didn't tell me that you had killed her. Why'd you do that? I should have put two and two together but it didn't even cross my mind that you might have been the one who-"

"Lucas, _what_ do they _want_?"

"Scorpia wants you back, Yassen."

**(1) For now let's just say Alex lives (or is dead I guess) in London and has his whole life. I'm pretty sure the books say he lives in Chelsea (it's been a while since I've read them) but oh well. London it is!**

**(2) Alex wasn't adopted by the Pleasures after Scorpia Rising, he kept working for MI6. A woman named Niamh Avery takes the place of Zeljan Kurst after he is captured and Scorpia regains around half of the power it had in its glory days, which is still a relatively big amount.**

**Well, it's been a while, so my writing might not be the greatest it's ever been, so bear with me. I'm sure I'll get used to it again once I get further into the story. i'm not too sure about the plot, so let me know what you think. Thanks for reading you guys, I really appreciate it. Comments = motivation; Tips/Critiques/Suggestions = love **


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